


lion's mouth

by sundaycat



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Slight pining, Transformation, crybaby verse, mark ryo down as scared and horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaycat/pseuds/sundaycat
Summary: “How long are you planning to go on like this for?”Akira’s voice is muffled against the cushion, which he has not raised his head from. “Like what.”“Something’s clearly bothering you.”





	lion's mouth

**Author's Note:**

> this is the exact same setup as every smut fic in this fandom but i figured i'd throw my hat in the ring
> 
> warning for not dubcon but...somewhat nonideal consent situation. fairly mild given the series.

Ryo doesn’t know why Akira wanted to come over to his place when all he’s going to do is lie facedown on Ryo’s couch with one of the pillows pressed over his head. Not that he minds having Akira around, of course, but he’s barely spoken since he came in the door, just telling Ryo that he needed to get out of the Makimuras’ house and then heading directly for the sofa to drape himself over it.

Well, that’s not true. Ryo does know what’s wrong. Akira must be feeling it again: the hunger pangs of his newly overactive libido prodding at him. Ryo finds it sort of amusingly ironic that the wants of a demon are just an amplified version of the most essential human desires - sex, food, aggression. He knows that Akira is more vexed by the first one than the other two. He’s hesitant to broach the subject, though, considering how poorly it went last time. He doesn’t know how Akira will react. So for now he just lets him deal with it how he wants to deal with it, and if the way he wants to do that is to press his face into the couch cushion and stew, so be it.

It’s been about forty minutes of Akira lying there in a monklike attempt to suppress his dick through willpower alone while Ryo taps away on his laptop across from him in silence. It’s not going to work, Ryo knows. Akira may be able to wrestle down most of his demonic urges, but this is something that’s not just Amon speaking. Akira’s natural inclination towards softness is enough to balance it out most of the time when the thing in him howls for blood, but lust is a standard enough human want that he’s always had, even if much more muted. When he gets like this it pulls on something that’s rooted in him as a human, that’s been in him all along, and it’s harder for him to push back. Ryo works wordlessly for another few minutes, and then decides it’s time for him to speak up.

“How long are you planning to go on like this for?”

Akira’s voice is muffled against the cushion, which he has not raised his head from. “Like what.”

“Something’s clearly bothering you.”

Akira shifts the pillow off his head a bit and peeks out at him, one sharp brown eye furrowed up in frustrated aching. “It won’t go away,” he finally says.

“What won’t?” Ryo asks, even though he already knows what it is.

“You _know_ what I mean. The… _wanting_.”

Ryo suppresses a smirk. Even like this, even after what Ryo’s seen of him, Akira’s too shy to say anything vulgar to Ryo’s face. Cute.

Akira groans and flips onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Can I use your shower?” he asks after a minute.

“Of course.” 

Akira peels himself off the couch and disappears up the stairs, leaving Ryo by himself. Ryo doesn’t know if he’s going to jerk off or if he just wants the cold water. He half-heartedly scolds himself that it’s none of his business to speculate, or to let himself indulge in fantasy about the former option.

And he manages not to, actually. He turns his focus back to his work, which is easier to do now without Akira hanging just outside his view. He’s more of a distraction to Ryo than he should be. Eventually, though, his thoughts do turn back to Akira, when he realizes he’s been up there for an awfully long time. Ryo can’t hear the sound of the water running anymore, and realizes he hasn’t for a while now. Maybe he should go up to check on him. It feels silly to imagine that he’s somehow gotten himself into serious trouble without leaving the second floor or Ryo’s apartment, but he never knows with Akira. He shuts his laptop and goes upstairs.

He heads for Akira’s last known location in his bathroom, but finds he doesn’t even have to make it all the way to the ensuite, because as soon as he steps into his bedroom, there’s Akira, curled up in a fetal position on his bed.

It’s dark in the room. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn, and Ryo can only make out Akira’s shape in the light from the hallway. He looks recently out of the shower, dressed in just his underwear and with his hair still wet. His breathing is labored and he’s making small whimpering noises, rocking himself slightly back and forth.

“Akira?” Ryo says cautiously, unsure if Akira has even noticed his entrance. The lump on the bed gives only a pained whine in response.

Ryo shuts the door and clicks on the lamp by the doorframe. He takes a soft step towards the bed. “Akira,” he says again, trying for gentle this time.

Akira peeks one eye out from behind his arm, wild and desperate between his elbow and his mess of damp hair. 

“It’s not helping,” he says. “Nothing helps.”

Ryo takes another slow step towards him, and Akira buries his face in his arms again. “The sheets smell like you,” Akira murmurs, the words slipping out of his mouth like he can’t help saying it. 

Ryo’s standing at the edge of the bed now. Up close now, in the low light from the lamp, he can see Akira’s face squeezed tight in pain and tension. He looks like he might be sweating, although it’s hard to tell with him just out of the shower. As he writhes against the sheets, Ryo catches brief glimpses of his erection, huge and straining against his black briefs. It looks terribly uncomfortable. Ryo assumes he’s tried to tend to it and been unsuccessful in cooling any of the craving.

Standing at the edge of the bed, Ryo thinks: maybe it’s time to make the offer he hasn’t dared to bring up so far. Now. If he’s going to do it, now’s his moment.

“Let me help you,” he says quietly. A flutter of uncharacteristic anxiety passes through him as the words slip out of his mouth. Well, he’s said it, it’s out there now, there’s no walking it back from this if he’s made an awful misstep and Akira has no desire to think of him in that way. Ryo’s already formulating what he’ll say later, when Akira’s back in a clearer mind, if he rejects him right here and now— _you looked like you were suffering, since you wouldn’t let me do anything else to help you, I just thought I’d offer, I didn’t mean anything by it_ —

Akira has frozen in his squirming, and now he uncurls himself slightly, looking up at Ryo with wide eyes. “Are—are you serious?” he says. 

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” Ryo forces himself to look Akira in the eyes, as much as he wants to just stare at the floor and wait for Akira to pass judgment on his offer. He’s trying to gauge Akira’s reaction, readjust his response, remaneuver the situation as needed. The weak light of the lamp is more than enough for Akira to see by perfectly, but for Ryo the room is just dim enough to make him doubtful of what the shadows on Akira’s face mean. All his nerves are wired at the possibility of reading some tiny signal wrong, making a terrible misstep, even worse than the one he’s maybe just made. 

Akira looks cautious, but not openly offended or disgusted. Not yet, at least. There’s something else bubbling behind the hesitation, and Ryo can’t tell yet if it’s that or want, but his thinking is wishful enough to propel him a step onwards.

Ryo sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to unbutton his shirt. Akira, sitting up now, looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t tear his focus off of Ryo’s hands working the buttons open. 

Ryo tosses his shirt to the floor, leaving his undershirt on for now, and crawls toward Akira.

Their faces hover a couple inches away from each other for a second or two, Akira’s eyes still big and questioning. Ryo isn’t sure if maybe he needs to make another move, or maybe this whole thing was a mistake after all, but then Akira’s hands rise gingerly to hover over his waist for a second and then settle there, warm and solid. Ryo’s eyes float shut and he makes a small approving hum in his throat, leaning in a little closer.

Akira closes the rest of the distance between them and crawls into Ryo’s lap, pressing the two of them together. He buries his face between Ryo’s neck and his shoulder and just stays there like that for a moment, the closeness of his breath sending goosebumps up Ryo’s neck. “You smell so good,” he whispers hoarsely, sounding almost pained.

Ryo feels a pang of pity for Akira. It must be torture for him, having this hunger that wants to fuck anything that walks but being too damn saintly to let himself satisfy it. He runs his thumb over the crest of Akira’s hip bone.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low with Akira’s ear right by his mouth. “You can let go. I’m going to make you feel better.” _You can use me however you want. I want you so fucking bad_ , he continues in his head, but doesn’t say it out loud. Akira lets out a long, shaky breath into his neck, and Ryo feels Akira’s fingers twitch a little at his waistline.

Akira is…sniffing him now, drawing in long, heavy breaths, taking in his scent. He runs his hands up Ryo’s sides, somewhat tentative, not quite daring to slip under his shirt. His nosing turns into a gentle mouthing at Ryo’s neck as Ryo’s own hand wanders across Akira’s bare back.

Akira shifts a little against him, and now Ryo can really feel his dick pressing into his thigh. He’s hard enough that it must be painful, and more pressingly than that, he’s fucking _huge_. Just feeling the shape of him through both their layers of clothing is enough to make Ryo’s cock jump with part apprehension, part anticipation of having that thing inside him.

Ryo lets his hand drift down to Akira’s knee and make its way up his thigh. He puts his hand on him through the fabric of his briefs and rubs just a little, feeling how firm and how thick he is.

At just this tiny bit of contact and motion, Akira gasps like he’s been struck. Ryo’s touch seems to have activated something in him, and he pushes Ryo onto his back on the mattress. Ryo goes easily, and then figures now is as good a time as any to get his undershirt off, so he shucks it off and tosses it to the floor with his dress shirt as Akira descends on him. 

As Akira’s hands smooth up his chest, Ryo notices that they’ve begun to curl into claws at the ends, bigger and more powerful then they’d been a few minutes ago. Oh. Oh, Akira’s starting to turn, he realizes. There a million ways this could go badly, and maybe Ryo should stop them right here, but he finds himself more excited by it than anything else.

Akira licks his lips. His tongue is starting to go long and forked. Fuck, Ryo wants it all over him.

Akira begins to rub himself against Ryo’s thigh, more purposefully now than the accidental brushing a minute ago. He buries his face in Ryo’s neck again as he ruts against him. Ryo’s own dick isn’t getting in on much of the friction, but he’s already hard himself just from having Akira on top of him like this.

“Wanna be inside you,” Akira mumbles, speaking into Ryo’s hair like maybe he can’t look at him. “Fuck. Holy shit.” 

Ryo feels a thrill run through his stomach at that. He knows where this is going, obviously, but to hear Akira say it, to know that he wants it bad enough, that he’s lost enough in it to say something like that that he’d normally be too bashful to even hint at, hooks him right in the center in his belly where all the pleasure seems to bloom from. Even with his face buried where Ryo can’t see his expression, Akira sounds wrecked, his breathing heavy.

Ryo’s head is swimming too ferociously to formulate a reply that’s as cool or collected as he wants it to be, so he just lets out the raw, unfiltered noise that rises to the top of his throat instead. Akira continues to grind against him, and even under the surface of his constant movement Ryo feels like he can feel him changing, inching towards his other form in degrees so tiny they wouldn’t be perceptible if Ryo wasn’t so familiar with what the approaching of a demon felt like. If he wasn’t so familiar with Akira.

The movements toward his other form are slow, but the change is perceptible - his hands are no longer clawlike and are now definitely claws, and when Ryo looks down there’s a sort of downy layer covering Akira’s legs, halfway between hair and fur. Akira presses Ryo into the mattress by his shoulders as he continues to essentially just hump his leg. It wouldn’t be Ryo’s first choice if he was the one trying so desperately to get off, but apparently it feels good enough for Akira, because there’s a damp spot forming on the front of his briefs from the unnatural amount of precome he’s leaking. 

Akira’s at least partially lost now, Ryo thinks. He’s stopped speaking, all of him focused on just movement and sensation. His mouth returns to Ryo’s neck—he seems to like that spot—and Ryo feels his tongue fanning across his pulse point.

Pinned on his back, with Akira licking hungrily into his throat, Ryo begins to realize that he’s not really as in control of this as he would like to be anymore. Not just here and now, having Akira on top of him and realizing that he probably couldn’t stop him now even if he wanted to, but this whole thing. He might have been the one to make Akira into what he is now, but he’s not in control of what he’s made. Ryo starts to think that maybe he hadn’t realized what he was getting himself into, bringing such a powerful demon here to be shackled to a human and then putting himself in front of it.

Akira wouldn’t hurt him. Ryo is as confident in that as he is of anything. What Amon might do to him, though, is anyone’s guess. Ryo’s still not entirely sure how tight a leash Akira has on this thing, and where it is that his control stretches to its breaking point. If it’s going to happen, Ryo thinks, a situation like this, letting Akira build himself up into a land mine of repressed sexual energy and agitation over a week and then trying to fuck him, is probably courting disaster. Ryo starts to realize there’s a possibility that Akira, or Amon, whoever’s in front of him now, could actually kill him if he keeps going through with this. The fear of this understanding is cut with a good portion of thrill and arousal; Ryo has always been terribly excited by danger.

He tries not to let on that he’s somewhat nervous. He’s got to act like he’s still in control, or it really is all over. He thinks Akira must be able to feel it coming off him, though, if not his nervousness his much more powerful excitement at his own nervousness, the adrenaline buzzing through him making his skin thrum.

Akira’s licking has turned to light nipping at Ryo’s neck and shoulder. Ryo gets his hand under Akira’s waistband, finds him sticky with the mess of precome he’s dripping all over himself. Well, at least his dick still appears to be human, just fucking huge. He starts to stroke a little, and Akira stops moving so much to let him work. Ryo works him slowly, in long, relaxed strokes that are the complete opposite of Akira’s frantic humping. Akira is whining into his chest, wriggling a little against him, and Ryo can tell he wants him to go faster, but he’s going to take his time.

Akira’s teeth have gotten really sharp now, and when he bites Ryo just under the collarbone harder than he’s done before, Ryo feels his teeth sink in and draw a little blood, and Ryo feels…not full-on fear, but the beginnings of a mild panic creeping back in. He still doesn’t think Akira would really hurt him, but he can feel his heartbeat beginning to get away from him. “Akira,” he gasps, “Akira, careful—”

Akira comes back to himself a little at that. He relaxes his jaw and licks at the wound, lapping the blood up almost apologetically. Ryo returns to his stroking as Akira moves up his neck, mouthing feverishly up his jaw, not kissing but not biting either.

Ryo wonders how much of this is Akira. The roughness his body scrapes up against Ryo’s with, the biting, he doesn’t think so, that’s Amon’s doing, but—the wanting? The wanting Ryo specifically? Is that him?

The transformation’s been slow and creeping so far, but now Akira’s wings tear out of his back all in one go. He shudders against Ryo and lets out a rough, choked, rolling sound, a roar trying to come out of a voice box that’s still mostly human.

Ryo runs a hand up Akira’s side and murmurs, “Shh, shh, easy.” Akira shivers at that. If Akira’s really losing himself, it probably won’t do much good, but he does seem to be keeping some degree of control over the transformation so far, and maybe he just needs a little reminder to keep it in check. Akira does seem to settle a bit at the sound of his voice. That’s a relief—as much as the idea excites him, Ryo’s not sure he’d be physically able to take Akira fully turned.

Akira’s briefs are a fucking mess by now, and Ryo’s not a fan of how much the fabric is confining his hand movements, so he pulls them down over Akira’s hips. Akira kicks them off the rest of the way and Ryo takes his cock in his hand. He can’t stop marveling at it, even better now that he can get a good look at it—so big, so firm, fuck he wants it inside of him. Akira is sticky with the mess he’s made of himself, still leaking more precome under Ryo’s fingers. Ryo curls around him and starts to stroke a little, Akira warm and heavy in his hand.

As Akira shuts his eyes and moans against him, Ryo presses his lips to Akira’s chest, then catches himself and stops just short of what would be necessary to qualify the action as a kiss. He’s just helping Akira burn this feeling off, he reminds himself, nothing more than that. This isn’t for him.

That’s not true, of course. All of this is very much for him. But he feels like he has to retain some kind of plausible deniability after the fact—to himself? To Akira, if he feels differently later on when his mind is no longer clouded by hormones? Would Akira even care if Ryo kissed him at this point? Would he maybe even like it? Ryo doesn’t know the answers to any of these things, all he knows is that he likes just having Akira close to him, touching skin and sharing heat, making little noises into him, and he likes having his hand on Akira’s cock, and he wants to keep doing it, so he does.

Akira’s body, when it’s his own, or as his own as it can be, has been deliciously well-muscled since the fusing. Now the half-transformation has pushed his shoulders a touch broader, his whole build just slightly bigger than human. His frame covers Ryo entirely, pressing into every inch of him. He’s giving off so much heat. Ryo’s not sure if he’s just unused to the sensation of having another body so close to him, or if it really is something supernatural about him, something demon-made burning through him like a fever. He startles a little at the unexpected brush of Akira’s tail against his leg—when did that get there—and then it curls around his calf.

Akira’s so fucking gorgeous like this. He’s powerful and thick-framed, heavy on top of Ryo, and with his clothes off Ryo can really get a good look at the way he’s filled out since his metamorphosis from the skinny little scrap of a boy Ryo had brought into that half-rotted church basement. Not that he hadn’t been cute then, of course, but this Akira, so full of strength and so filled up with wanting that it spills over despite his best attempts to contain it—it thrills Ryo beyond words. He’s full of fear and arousal and simple, clean excitement at what Akira is now, what Ryo’s made of him.

When Akira goes for Ryo’s pants, Ryo barely has time to think _oh, here we go, it’s really happening now_ , before he’s naked, Akira stripping off his pants and underwear all in one go. Akira’s not just going to get off against his leg, he’s going to do it, he’s really going to fuck him, yes, _fuck_ yes.

Ryo feels more exposed than he’d expected, having his cock out, hard against his stomach, all of him pink and vulnerable. Being naked feels different with Akira over him, feels hot and precarious. Akira shows some interest in his dick, palming it lightly with the heel of his hand, keeping his claws folded away from it. His movements are almost shy, light and uneven, intended more to investigate than to pleasure, but Ryo is transfixed and thrillingly embarrassed by how small he seems under Akira’s big hand.

Then Akira’s gripping his knees, spreading his thighs apart as he presses his cock up against him, and Ryo scrambles up to a position leaning back on his elbows. “Hey, hey—” he says, “okay, easy, if you’re going to fuck me at least let me get myself ready, okay?” 

He scoots backwards toward the edge of the bed, and Akira crawls after him, whining, trying to stay on top of him. “Hey, relax, I’m not going anywhere, this will just take a minute,” Ryo tries to reassure him, even though he’s not sure if Akira’s listening or understanding or even totally conscious of himself making these movements. He manages to wriggle an arm out from under Akira’s insistent limbs and get open the drawer on his nightstand.

He’s stashed a small bottle of lube in there, having considered before that something like this might end up happening. Well, “something like this” meaning Akira having some kind of sex emergency that needed to be resolved in his home—he imagined it would involve something more like him getting a woman in here with Akira and waiting downstairs while they finished the act, definitely not sulking. He hadn’t dared insert himself into the scenario, keeping a strict line between contingency plan and fantasy, but here it is happening now.

Akira affixes himself solidly back on top of Ryo as soon as he gets his whole body back onto the bed. As much as Ryo loves having Akira on top of him, he’s not going to be able to get anything done like this. He pushes gently on Akira’s chest. Keeping his voice soft, he tells him, “You’ve got to give me some room to work here. You can get back on top of me in a minute.” He’s glad to find that Akira allows himself to be moved fairly easily, because Ryo’s not going to be able to pry him off if he refuses to go.

Ryo scoots back from Akira a little to give himself some more room to maneuver. He feels that slight, foreign tug of self-consciousness again at the feeling of Akira watching him so closely and so single-mindedly as he starts to lube up his hand.

He’s going to have to do this quick, he thinks as he dips his hand between his legs. He can tell that it’s taking all of Akira’s effort to hold himself back from him for even this short minute. Ryo inhales through his nose and then jams two fingers in, feeling his body balk at the rude abruptness of the intrusion, but pushing through it.

He flexes his fingers and pumps a little, trying to loosen up some of the reflexive tenseness that his body is squeezing around him, not understanding what he’s trying to do. He knows that he wants it so fucking bad, but his muscles don’t seem to realize that, and they push back in a reactive panic against every movement he makes.

Ryo can feel the tension radiating off of Akira, kneeling at his feet. Akira’s got his hands on his knees, gripping tightly as if to hold himself together as he watches Ryo, mouth hanging open a little. Ryo scissors his fingers a little and bites his lip. He’s not savoring the motion—it’s all business right now, just trying to make sure he doesn’t die of a hemorrhage when Akira sticks it in. 

Ryo works another finger in, sooner than would maybe be ideal, but he’s trying to move things along here. Akira is practically vibrating from the effort of trying to keep himself still. His claws have disappeared into the fur on his legs, but they look like they’re digging in hard. Ryo feels a little looser now, the pressure around his fingers now just tight instead of crushing. 

By the time he gets a fourth finger in, because fuck, Akira’s enormous and he’s going to need it, Akira is panting, flexing his claws agitatedly into his thighs. He’s started to let out a long, high, needy whine, like a boiling teakettle left on the stove. Ryo gives himself a minute to work with four fingers, then decides he’s just going to go for it now, and if he dies trying to take Akira’s dick after about thirty seconds of prep, that’s not such a bad way to go. He slips his fingers out and crawls towards Akira, who is instantly at attention, eager, all over him as soon as he’s within reach.

“Alright,” Ryo murmurs, “alright.” He nuzzles under Akira’s chin, gives him another little almost-kiss there. “You’re being so good, so patient. Let’s do this.”

Ryo finds the bottle where he tossed it a minute ago and lubes Akira up for him. He really overdoes it, emptying most of the rest of the small bottle into his hand, but he figures he’s going to need all the help he can get to take Akira. Akira groans when Ryo massages the liquid onto him, and Ryo takes the opportunity to settle Akira back onto his knees and climb on top of his lap.

Ryo keeps his hand on Akira’s cock, guiding it towards him as he lowers himself onto it. When he feels the head wet against his entrance, he pauses, bites his lip, and slowly pushes the tip in.

He pauses there, intending to take a moment to adjust and collect himself before taking it any farther, but he doesn’t get a chance before Akira abruptly does the rest. Ryo feels himself clenching involuntarily and futilely against the intrusion, and he sucks in a sharp reflexive breath, his hands flying up to grip Akira’s shoulders for support. He’s big big big oh god. Ryo could see that before, obviously, but fuckfuckfuck, actually having him inside is a different thing altogether. Akira’s not moving now, Ryo realizes as he tries to convince his muscles to _just fucking chill out for a minute, it’s okay, just relax._ Akira’s holding himself together again, having realized he’s gone a bit too fast. Ryo feels a little tendril of affection unfold in his chest. He’s so good, his beautiful perfect Akira is so good, worried about hurting him even now on the edge of losing himself, so caring even in the middle of this feral roughness, so good.

Ryo’s recovered from the initial surprise now, and make no mistake about it, Akira’s a lot to take and it’s stretching him to his limit, but he can take it, he can take it. He’s familiar with pain, and he’s okay with it. He loosens his grip where his fingers have dug into Akira’s shoulder blades and tries to let go of some of that tension built up in his core, transferring it into a little roll of his hips. Akira lets out a low cry against the side of his face. He’s still holding himself so still, such a good, patient boy, trying so hard to control the wanting that Ryo knows is screaming inside of him. “It’s alright,” Ryo whispers to him, “you can move, I’m alright now.” He keeps up the short, controlled rolling of his hips, feeling the little movements of the huge intrusion inside him. It still hurts but it feels good, dizzying, has him full of a tingling awe at how weird and unnatural the sensation is. Ryo rocks himself into it a little more and now Akira’s pushing into him too, so he tries to time his own movements to meet him, because god knows Akira’s too far gone for any kind of coordination like that. Akira’s hands slide up his back, tentative again, and Ryo sighs pleasantly into him.

Akira seems completely overwhelmed. It must feel so good inside him, Ryo thinks. Ryo feels pretty overwhelmed himself. It’s nice, the two of them together like this, in the same warm, rushing, breathless place. Ryo doesn’t know if Akira’s thinking of it like that, but it makes him feel close to him in more than the obvious way.

Akira’s transformation doesn’t seem to be progressing any further now—his skin’s a color that’s not quite natural, and he’s got those two dark streak markings like tear tracks under his eyes, but his face is still passably human. He seems to be holding at halfway between his two forms, although whether that’s by his own restraint or his body working without him, Ryo’s not sure.

Ryo resteadies himself, hooking his arm around the back of Akira’s neck, and manages to snake his other hand between the two of them and touch himself a little, rubbing some of the leftover lube on his hand onto his cock. He stays like that for a minute until Akira’s thrusts start to speed up a bit, getting more frantic. He throws his arm back around Akira’s back. Akira’s pushing deep into him now, and Ryo’s whole body feels hot and light. He presses in as close to Akira’s chest as he can, wanting to soak up more of that heat. Ryo runs his hand up Akira’s back, up his neck, up through his hair. He cards his fingers through it, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, and Akira lets out a small, pleased whuffing sound into Ryo’s ear. 

Akira really takes control of the pace now, and Ryo’s lost, completely helpless. All his bones feel like jelly. He can’t match Akira’s thrusting power, so he stops trying, turns himself over to Akira completely, melting against him. Akira tips them both backwards so Ryo’s on his back against the mattress again and thrusts harder with his increased leverage, somehow sinking even deeper into Ryo. He presses his whole body into Ryo as he fucks him, cradling him. Ryo throws his own arms around Akira’s shoulders as if for support, although Akira’s gripping him so tightly it’s not like there’s a chance he’s going anywhere. 

In the middle of it, as Ryo’s letting his head fall back as he loses himself, Akira abruptly kisses him, still bloody-mouthed from where he’d bitten Ryo earlier, but somehow tender. Ryo’s eyes snap open and he can’t help himself, he slips out a delighted little noise into Akira’s mouth, which Akira seems to like. 

Ryo kisses him back, desperately, drinking it in. This might be all he ever gets, so he takes it while he can get it. Akira tastes coppery, and Ryo thinks hazily, _that’s me_. That’s a little bit of him in Akira’s mouth, dripping down his throat, in him, part of him. Ryo is aware that his thoughts are starting to verge on nonsense, which is kind of exciting in its own way, that he can have his brain so thoroughly scrambled just by what Akira’s doing to him, no drugs needed.

Akira is kind of drooling onto him, but Ryo doesn’t mind. He keeps kissing him, his hands moving up to the short bristly hair at the nape of Akira’s neck and massaging into him there. He runs his tongue over the sharp points of Akira’s teeth and maps out the ridges of each cuspid. It’s not the kind of kissing technique that’s going to make it into Cosmo anytime soon, but Akira doesn’t seem much more concerned than Ryo is about keeping things classy at this point, and Ryo likes the feeling of the points against his tongue. 

Akira breaks away to breathe for a moment and growls against Ryo’s lips. Ryo huffs a breathless sound back at him. Akira’s wings have spread out and curled around Ryo, forming a small canopy over the two of them. He’s buried his face in the crook of Ryo’s neck again, and Ryo can feel the breath from his nose when he lets out occasional little muffled moans as he thrusts. The dark, leathery blanket of Akira’s wings blocking out everything else makes it feel like there’s nothing in the world beyond the two of them pressed against each other, and Ryo is floating away again, lost in the waves of heavy sensation radiating up through his body from where Akira moves inside him.

The pleasure is a foreign, deep kind that Ryo’s not entirely familiar with. He’s never made a habit of touching himself particularly often; he doesn’t feel the need. He doesn’t think of himself as a creature who wants like this, not for anyone but Akira. All the same, he knows what it feels like to get off normally and this isn’t quite the same—it feels weird and different and intense, but he likes it, a lot. 

The pleasure doesn’t come from the usual nerve endings, with Akira stretching him so tight and Ryo’s dick sandwiched too tightly between the two of their stomachs for him to get a hand in and get a spark from there, but…the full, hot feeling, the intensity of it, sends slow pulses of lightning through Ryo’s core. Akira’s clearly lost in it, and Ryo can’t help but be carried away along with him. He feels good because he knows Akira feels good. He’s electrified by the closeness to Akira in every part of his body, cradled up against him like this, feeling his breath and his pulse. Akira is making soft, high cries in his throat that don’t entirely make it out of his closed mouth, and Ryo is close enough to feel the moans coming out of him in the movement of his chest and his breath on his neck rather than hearing him.

Ryo can feel Akira’s fur against his thighs, and his tail wrapped around his ankle again. His cock is rubbing against Akira’s firm-muscled stomach, and he can feel the motion of Akira’s abdominal muscles against it as he pants. Akira is speaking words again now, saying his name, repeating it over and over.

“Ryo—Ryo—Ryo— _oh_ —” 

He grips Ryo even harder than before, pressing the breath out of him against his chest as he comes.

Akira’s orgasm lasts for what seems like ages, pumping heavy spurts of come into Ryo, hot and thick inside him. Ryo comes too somewhere in the middle of it, his own orgasm seeming somewhat brief and feeble by comparison, even though he can’t remember the last time he came this hard. Akira’s still going strong by the time he finishes. Finally, he rides out the last few surges into Ryo’s loose body with a long moan and a huff. He holds himself above Ryo for a moment, trembling, and then collapses back into human form on the mattress next to him.

There’s a small puddle of come leaking out of Ryo where Akira’s just pulled out of him. He feels somewhat high, his whole body buzzing despite starting to ache already. Next to him, Akira is sweaty and out of breath, eyes closed. He wonders if Akira would let him kiss him again, like this, back in himself, now that the moment’s passed. He decides not to push his luck.

Everything feels sticky. Fuck, there really is a lot of come inside of him, and also outside of him. The sheets are probably going to be ruined—no, scratch that, everything’s probably going to be ruined right down to the mattress. He could probably minimize the damage if he started to clean up now, but he doesn’t want to get up. Fuck it. He’ll get a new mattress. It’s worth the feeling of just lying here for now. 

There’s a streak of Ryo’s come smeared across Akira’s belly that he’s making no move to clean off. The sight of it sends one last straggling flutter through Ryo’s tired cock. He feels somewhat dazed and completely fucked silly, and it’s phenomenal. Listening to Akira’s breathing starting to come down beside him, Ryo allows himself to close his own eyes.

“Ryo?”

After a minute he hears Akira’s voice, hoarse, and opens them again. Akira has propped himself partway up on one elbow, and he looks like it’s taking a lot of effort to keep his head up, but he’s peering at Ryo with concerned eyes.

“Are—are you alright?”

Ryo manages to huff out an exhausted laugh. “Yes, I’m fine.” He’s more than fine, holy shit. He’s floating on a goddamn cloud, how is that even a question.

Akira lowers himself back to the bed, but continues to look somewhat worriedly at Ryo. “Sorry. That got…kind of intense, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

A pause, and then, “Sorry I bit you.”

Ryo laughs again, genuine and low in his chest this time. He’s going to treasure that fucking bite wound for the precious couple of days he has until it heals as a reminder of what happened. “That’s alright,” he tells him.

Another pause. Akira says, “That felt really good. Holy shit.” Then he looks stricken and says, “Uh, not to like, make it all about me or—”

Ryo grins and opens his other eye to look at Akira, feeling his gaze go soft in the way it very rarely does. “I enjoyed it too.”

Akira looks flustered. “Oh. Good. That’s, uh—that’s good.” He’s so cute, holy shit. More than ever, Ryo just wants to cup his cheeks and kiss his worried little face, but he restrains himself.

“Um,” says Akira after another moment, in which Ryo’s closed his eyes again. He hears the shifting sound of Akira sitting up. “Do you want me to…like…go? I don’t know if I can stand up and I kind of just want to pass out here but, uh, I can leave if you…think I should.”

Ryo can’t say what he’s thinking, which is _oh sweet fucking victory, Akira wants to sleep next to him after they fuck, in his_ bed, _fucking hallelujah_ , so he just says, “You can stay if you’d like.” 

“Okay, uh, cool. That’s…I’ll just be here,” says Akira, and the mattress shifts as he flops back down next to Ryo, and Ryo’s too sleepy to stop the little smile that curls onto his lips.


End file.
